Just A Little Pain
by purefoysgirl
Summary: In progress: rated now for language. Used the romance genre because there isn't one for just plain sex. Murphy has a taste for pain and is trying to find what will do it for him...
1. Chapter 1

Just A Little Pain

Murphy roamed the streets, restless and alone, bundled tight against the cold snow in his coat, his cigarette clenched tightly in the corner of his mouth. The wet snow plastered his hair against his head, making it look black instead of the dark, dark brown it was, running little rivulets down his collar to shiver down his spine—but he didn't mind it. There was a lot that Murphy didn't mind: the little discomforts of life, the fear, the anxiety, the _pain_. Growing up with his twin in Ireland—both of them always rather small for their age—had inured Murphy to physical pain at a very young age, both of them had such high thresholds for it that sometimes it was scary. Last summer Conner had taken a shot to the shoulder that had required stitches, but the silly bastard hadn't realized it was as bad as it was. He'd insisted on treating Murphy's shallow cuts first, thinking the wound was less serious than it was. Well, at least he hadn't been a pussy when Murphy had stitched him up; that was a plus.

Sometimes, though, life got a little banal without the simple pleasure of actually _feeling_ something. It had been so long since anything had actually _hurt_ him, since he'd actually _enjoyed_ the occasional run-in with a woman—fuck, since he'd even _thought_ about having a good fuck to work the kinks out. Neither one of them had had a woman since this whole mess started, it was just too fucking complicated and usually they were exhausted enough that even the idea of an orgasm seemed to require too much effort. Settling for a little "fun for one" was getting old and he was fucking sick of it. It wasn't like either of them had ever had any problems getting girls, for the love of God. Even rumpled from sleep and not showered from the previous evening's festivities he and Conner had always gotten those sweet, rather surprised smiles from the women they passed on their way to get coffee in the mornings—like they expected the brothers to be mangy scum but instead found themselves pulled in by identical eyes and a charm that was as encompassing as it was automatic.

Murphy trudged past the bar and out into the growing night, thinking that another disappointing encounter with a woman wasn't exactly what he was wanting. It felt good, but something was lacking and he knew exactly what it was—_pain_. Somewhere along the way he'd gotten his wires crossed and needed that sharp sweetness of pain to really make it all work for him. Not your usual, run-of-the-mill pain—that shit just fucking _hurt_. It wasn't like he got a hard-on every time he got shot or anything. It wasn't the same thing at all. He just needed it, his nerves screaming and senses spinning to make the climax that much sweeter.

He knew his twin understood—they'd shared everything since birth, it was inevitable that his other self would know him so well. Murphy could never explain how close he and Conner were—closer than most other twins, even, he knew. It was their Calling that had bound them so tightly, even since birth they had known somewhere deep down that they were meant for so much more. Nothing was mutually exclusive between them—Conner's mind was an extension of his own, just as Conner's body and movements and words were just an extension of his own. As they'd grown they'd unconsciously set boundaries, so people wouldn't stare at them. Because they weren't identical twins, it sometimes made people a little leery to see them so easy with one another, and once they'd moved to America they'd had to become more reserved except in the company of people who knew they were twins and not just a couple of fags. As if—Conner got more girls, it was true as Murphy tended to be the more boisterous and noisy of the two, but they never saw Conner puking his guts up after a binge or cutting his toenails. Murphy loved his brother, but Conner was about as sexually appealing as linoleum tile, and he was a guy to boot. Murphy was never one to rule out possibilities, but he sincerely doubted he'd ever move to the other side of the fence—women were just too interesting.

Murphy sucked the last bit out of his smoke and tossed it down, smashing it with the toe of his boot as he strode on, exhaling a cloud of smoke, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Furiously chewing on his thumbnail—a habit he'd had since he'd first _found_ his thumbs—Murphy continued down the brightly lit streets with unfocused eyes and a mounting frustration. He'd tried some things, certain types of girls—but he was too dominant a male to give over control to anyone, and girls like that demanded such things. He found the more tentative ones to his liking, but they were too damned scared to so much as dig in their fingernails, let alone give him what he was after. It seemed there was no way to win, sometimes and he'd be damned if he settled for anything less than feisty in the sack. As Ma always said, if it wasn't fuckin' fun then what was the fuckin' point?

Growling a little under his breath, he swerved and switched directions, moving back towards the hotel room he shared with Conner. Da got his own, the bastard. True, he'd offered the boys their own rooms, but they were so accustomed to living as one that they'd automatically asked for a double without thinking it over.

'_If I have to go through one more night of him snoring and me lying there awake, I swear on the Holy Virgin that I will jump outta the fuckin' window_,' Murphy thought, hands lighting up another cigarette of their own accord. The closer he got to home the more disgruntled he grew until he was thinking up a good reason to get into a fight with Conner and at least have a good fist-fight to knock some of his aggression out. Conner would oblige him, neither one of them could resist a scuffle and the least little thing could set either of them off.

He took the stairs two at a time and went into the room where Conner was watching the evening news with the languid look in his eyes that meant he'd already been at the whiskey Murphy had bought earlier in the day.

"Ye fuckin' drank it, didn't ye, ye bastard?" he demanded, jerking his coat off.

"Fuckin' drank what, Murph?" Conner asked, turning bleary eyes on him, rather puzzled. "The whiskey? I gave ye money for it, ye fuckin' shitehead."

"Oh, did ye, now?" Murphy asked, cracking his knuckles. "Are ye _sure_?"

"Aye, I'm sure," Conner said, eyes sharpening and narrowing. He got the gleam in his eye that meant his temper was being riled. "What're ye on about, Murphy? Are ye wantin' t' get trounced, my boy?"

Then, with deliberate slowness, he tipped the contested bottle of whiskey up to his lips and took a healthy slug.

"Ye son of a bitch!" Murphy snarled, fists clenching at his sides. "_That's mine_!"

Conner snorted, knowing that there was no "mine" in their world, and casually reminded, "Watch how ye talk about yer mother, there, Murphy."

Murphy said nothing, just stood there fuming.

"Well?" Conner asked, putting the bottle down and giving his twin a bored, expectant look. "Look, are ye gonna throw a punch or what? Yer obviously itchin' for a fight, Murph, and ye know I'm always obliged to trounce ye good. So?"

Murphy let his breath come out in a rush and pounced on his brother, knocking the chair over backwards and breaking it as their combined weight came down on it.

Conner's breath came out in a whoosh and he started laughing even as he socked his twin hard in the jaw.

"There's my boy, then!" he cried, and tumbled Murphy off of him.

Murphy clung tight and pulled Conner with him, putting a boot in his gut that flattened him against the wall and stole his breath yet again. But nothing could shake that fighting light in Conner's eyes, or the mad grin he got when he fought with his twin.

"Ye'll have to do better than that, Murphy," he said, laughing breathlessly.

Murphy obligingly swung his fist into Conner's face, and the fight began in earnest.


	2. Chapter 2

_Much too much later_

"Feel better?" Conner asked, holding a wet washcloth against his bleeding nose but still grinning his familiar grin.

"Aye," Murphy sighed, grimacing as he dabbed at a particularly nasty cut above his eyebrow. "Thanks."

"No problem, little brother," Conner amiably said, groaning a little as his fingers assessed the damage to his nose. "Aw, fuck, I think it's broken."

"Sorry," Murphy said, clearly not meaning it. "And I'm not yer fuckin' _little brother_."

He sat up with a low groan and looked around the wrecked hotel room. "Shite, we'll be payin' for this one."

"_You_ will be," Conner corrected, staggering to his feet and wiping at the blood that had spilled down onto the bare skin of his belly. "I'm not payin' for one of yer little testosterone fits, my boy."

"Aw, fuck _you_," Murphy said, and plopped down on his bed, the mattress sagging a little under his lean weight. He draped his arm over his eyes and sighed.

"Oh, why don't ye just go _find a girl_, Murphy," Conner said, exasperated. He tossed the washcloth into the sink and resumed watching television from his own bed since the chair was a done deal. "For fuck's sake, yer makin' me batshit!"

"Fuck _you_," Murphy said again, and glared at his twin from under his arm. "It isn't that simple, Conner—ye _know_ that."

"Aye, I know, I know," Conner muttered, kicking back with one foot crossed over the other, the remote and bottle of whiskey resting on his lean belly. He looked over at Murphy and gave him a ferocious, utterly twin-malicious grin as he said, "My Murphy likes a bit o' pain, doesn't he? Eh? A wee little bit, doesn't he?"

"Shut it!" Murphy snapped, ignoring the playful lilt to his twin's voice, the underlying laughter.

"Just a bit o' pain for my boy, right, Murph?"

"Yer an asshole, Conner," Murphy announced.

"Aye," Conner agreed, and turned his grin back to the television. "I'm an asshole."

A few moments and half a cigarette later, he added, "And yer a boy who needs a fuck if I've ever seen one, Murphy—fuckin' go and get it, for Christ's sake."

"Fuck you," Murphy repeated.

"'_Fuck you_'," Conner mimicked. "Fuckin' broken record…go t' sleep then, ye bastard."

Murphy rolled onto his side, away from Conner and the brightness of the television, and curved his body a bit to mound the pillow beneath his head. It was too early to sleep; he and Conner should be out at a bar, drinking and laughing, but his mood was off and they were both still bleeding so that was out.

'_Fuckin' asshole_,' he thought again, grumpily punching the pillow a few times. Conner had been partly responsible for Murphy's little…_revelation_, way back about twelve years ago. Not that it had meant much at the time, until the subsequent dissatisfaction that had later arisen. He'd been happier back then, a normal sixteen year old who enjoyed regular-type sex with regular-type girls—nothing to write home about but pleasant enough to be repeatable when the opportunity arose. '_That fuckin' bastard, if he hadn't come in…_'

But he couldn't really blame his twin. Not _really_. Whatever it had done to him, he preferred the way he was to the rather run-of-the-mill, hit-and-run fun he'd had to begin with. They'd started early when it came to women—one bottle of whiskey between them mixed with one flirtatious town slut who wanted to make a MacManus sandwich had divested them both of their virginity at just fourteen years old. And once that particular fire had been lit there'd been no quenching it for either of them. A series of girls had quickly followed, a stream of education to match their moods and temperaments and drive their poor Ma to distraction with tales of their deeds. And while things hadn't been _spectacular_, they'd at least been enjoyable…until that damned day he'd thought he was alone. As if he was _ever_ alone when he was the second half to one whole. As if there was such a thing as _privacy_ for a twin who had such a deep connection with his brother.

"Fuck," Murphy muttered, shifting restlessly, trying to get comfortable.

"A damned fine suggestion, Murph!" Conner put in, switching the television off and getting up. "And I, for one, am goin' to take it! Have a nice evenin' bein' all moody, my boy—I'm off to find someone whose company is a _bit_ more stimulating than yer own."

Murphy ignored his twin as Conner yanked on his shirt, socks, shoes, and coat and headed out with the parting shot, "And if yer the smart boy I know ye are, Murph, ye'll do us both a favor and follow my lead."

"_Go_," Murphy said, unwilling to give up the minimal comfort he'd found in his current position. He heard the door slam closed and sighed a little. The fight had taken the edge off of his temper but he was still left with his original problem and was glad his all-too-canny twin wasn't around to dissect him anymore. All he could do was curse and try to get what sleep he could.

'_Just a _little_ pain_…' Conner's voice echoed in his head, amused and teasing but shockingly unsurprised.

'_Just a _little_ pain_,' Murphy thought, pressing his cheek harder into the bed and his arm tighter to his face. And, sweet _Jesus_, that day—_that day_! That day that had changed him in ways he hadn't thought existed at the time.

For the first time in too long Murphy allowed his thoughts to drift back to when he was a sixteen year old—slender as a reed, wiry with muscle and full of fighting spirit. He'd been so different then, so much more carefree than he was these twelve years later. Wild as the wind, same as his twin, a chant often upon their old Ma's lips.

He fell back into the memory with force enough to make his mouth curve into a smile, hardly realizing that it was sleep, coming to him as a dream.

It was summer, warm and bright. The windows to the house were all open, curtains kicking in the breeze, the smell of fresh hay and flowers drifting through the house. It was two in the afternoon on a Saturday and Murphy was enjoying a smoke in his bedroom, lounging lazily on his bed and listening to the birds chirp. Ma was at her elderly Auntie's and Conner was off with Nadine somewhere, no doubt getting more of whatever it was he saw in her.

He wasn't sure what took him but he decided to indulge in a little private time while everyone was gone, just feeling good with the beauty of the day and being young and alive. He kicked off his jeans, got under his sheet, and closed his eyes for a moment of bliss. He was a little engrossed in what he was doing , being the type that was _always_ absorbed in whatever caught his attention, so he didn't hear his brother sneak back inside. Conner, of course, didn't _mean_ to sneak up on him, he was simply trying to get into the house undetected by Ma and her radar ears. Naturally, when he saw what his twin was up to, he couldn't pass up a chance to startle/embarrass/upset/or otherwise annoy him. Using the temporary cover the sheet provided, Conner pounced on his brother and delivered a rough slap to the busily working hand.

And that had pretty much done it.

Conner had, in fact, _missed_ the hand and connected soundly with something else instead.

Murphy had, in fact, come unhinged at the seams with the pain it had caused. But instead of stilling it, his back arched hard, tugging the sheet down to his chest as he felt the most violent, amazing orgasm of his young life rip up through his guts. It raised the hairs on his nape, curled his toes into his mattress, and raged on along with the searing pain signaling its presence in his balls.

"Oh, _Jesus_!" he gasped, eyes wide and watering, shuddering uncontrollably while his twin stared down at him with mingled amusement and bewilderment. "Aw, fuck, fuck, _fuck_!"

Conner's wide, round gaze rapidly filled with some level of comprehension and he broke into startled laughter, more amused than appalled by what he'd witnessed.

"What the fuck, Murph?" Conner asked, still laughing. "What was that?"

"Get away from me, ye fuckin' asshole!" Murphy hissed once he could actually _speak_. He groaned at the throb in his cock and the lingering shocks of his fading climax. "Ye hit me in the fuckin' nuts, ye dumb shite!"

"Oh, did I, now?" Conner crowed, laughing. "Didn't seem t' interrupt ye much, did it, Murph? In fact, I'd venture t' say that it pretty much did ye in, m' boy."

"What're ye doin' home, anyway?" Murphy asked, cheeks flaming a little. Being caught in the act by his brother wasn't a new one, they'd walked in on each other enough that it was pretty damned commonplace. He shoved into a sitting position, his cum sticky on his belly and hand.

"Breakin' up yer little party, brother," Conner teased. He got that look in his eye that never boded well for Murphy—it was the evil, teasing look that meant a ribbing was going to start. "Do ye like a little pain, then, Murph, eh?" He laughed at his brother's glare and ruffled Murphy's hair, giving him a non too-gentle pinch on the cheek. "Need a little 'ouch' t' get the blood flowin' then?"

Murphy slapped his hand away with a scowl and flung himself out of bed, jerking his jeans up over his narrow hips as Conner backed off a step.

"Poor little Murph," Conner chuckled, still amused. "Maybe ye should find yerself a nice dominatrix—that'd do the trick. My Murphy likes a bit o' pain!"

"Shut yer damned mouth, Conner or I'll—"

"Fine, fine," Conner said, holding up both hands in mock surrender. He threw his arm over Murphy's shoulder and shook him a little, slapping him on the belly hard enough to make him wince. "Yer one queer boy, Murph. Now, get out, I got Nadine waitin'."

"What? I thought the two of ye were done for today!" Murphy complained, giving his twin a disgruntled look. "And that fuckin' _hurt_, ye damned prick!"

"No, we aren't done for today and yes, I know it fuckin' hurt, ye dumb shite—it isn't like I was _aimin_' t' give ye a knock in the nuts," Conner said. "Now _go_, Murph!"

"This is _my_ fuckin' house, too, ye bastard!"

"I don't give a _shite_, Murph—_get goin_'!"

They were working up to a real scuffle when they were suddenly interrupted.

"The two of ye look like a coupla fags, hangin' on t' each other that way," Nadine announced, slinking into the room. She gave Murphy a sultry, rather jealous look and smirked at him. "Heya, Murph, how's it goin'?"

"Well, dontcha know I love my brother," Conner announced. "And what's goin' is Murphy—aren't ye?"

"Ye could stick around," Nadine suggested, widening her smile and tipping back her head in a way that Murphy never could abide. "Make a little sandwich?"

"We're not _that_ close," they said together, the sandwich lesson well learned.

"Besides, Murphy just finished a little session of 'fun for one' so he's all done in," Conner told her, and slapped Murphy on the stomach again, telling him, "Put yer shite away, Murphy, no one needs it here."

Cursing, Murphy hastily zipped and buttoned his fly.

"Yer a fuckin' pain in the ass, Conner," Murphy whispered, angrily jerking on his shirt and grabbing his pack of cigarettes before padding out the door.

"Aw, hell, Murph, wait _up_," Conner called from behind him, exasperated. He caught Murphy in the kitchen and snagged his arm, turning him back. "Ye aren't mad, are ye?"

"No," Murphy said, short and abrupt.

Conner hooked him by the back of the head and pressed forehead to forehead, his eyes boring into his twin's, his other hand holding him still.

"Are ye mad, Murph?" he asked, and it was like looking into a mirror, his own eyes searching him.

"No," he said again, lying a little. He was mad as hell but wasn't really sure _why_.

"Yer _normal_, Murphy," Conner told him, smiling a little. "Everybody has _somethin_', ye know? Somethin' that's all their own. Look at me."

Murphy's eyes shifted. He couldn't meet Conner's gaze—mirror of his own—and still manage to lie. Conner would know it the second it came out of his mouth.

"_Look at me, Murphy_," Conner said more forcefully. And, when Murphy locked eyes with his twin, Conner gently shook him a little and soothingly said, "Yer _normal_, Murph—I was just teasin' ye. There's not a damned thing wrong with ye, alright?"

"Yeah, sure," Murphy said, agreeing to get away. Lying to himself was always hardest, always _impossible_.

"I mean it, now," Conner insisted, and the twin thing kicked in, an understanding at gut level that made words paltry and unnecessary. "Yer just _fine_, Murphy. Believe me, there's people out there with worse needs than a little shot of adrenaline, okay?"

"Yeah," Murphy said, and nodded, leaning briefly into his twin for a moment.

"Good. Now, get the fuck out of here so I can finish," Conner said, and gave him the usual press of lips to the forehead—to the red spot where their heads had rested together in their 'twin-hold'—as Ma liked to call it. "We'll go out for a beer later on."

"Sneak out, ye mean?" Murphy asked, breaking away from Conner's loose grip and heading into the living room. "Ye know Ma will be on one, she's been at Auntie's."

"Aye, _sneak_ out, then," Conner said, and flashed him another grin, heading back into their room as he said over his shoulder, "Just a _little_ pain, eh, Murph?"


	3. Chapter 3

Murphy woke to the slamming of the door, jumping a little out of his dream.

"Wake up, Murph!" Conner whispered, only it came out loud and slurring, a stage-whisper to match his wobbling steps. "Hey, you awake?"

"Yeah," Murphy said, sitting up and swiping at his eyes. He shook his head a little, fighting the dimness of the room, only able to see Conner's silhouette—his shoulders and the spiky shocks of his hair. "What's up?"

"Nothing, just wanted to wake ye up," Conner said, and laughed. It was a full-fledged, open laugh, a full and relieved sound that Murphy hadn't heard in a very long time. Recently, neither one of them had laughed for _real_; it was always bound up with the tightness of worry, anger, and pain. "Did ye have fun sleeping?"

"I slept," Murphy said, and it sounded grumpy even to himself. He bent over and tugged at the laces of his boots, surprised that he'd fallen asleep with them on. "Did ye get what ye wanted, then?"

"Nah," Conner said, flopping down on his bed face-first. "I got t' drinking, got t' telling stories, and wound up closing the place down. The waitress offered, but I didn't want her asking questions about the guns, so I passed."

"Tragic," Murphy said, kicking off his boots and pulling off his socks. "Why'd ye go with the guns?"

"Fucking forgot about them," Conner said, and again that light, happy laughter. "I'm so used to not leaving them in these hotel rooms that I put them on outta habit."

Murphy shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it to the end of his bed. He paused a moment to light a cigarette before moving over to his twin and tugging at his coat.

"What?" Conner asked, boneless as Murphy stripped the coat off of him.

"Yer sloppy drunk, Conner—get some sleep."

Conner sat up and let Murphy help him undo the straps that held his guns down. Murphy carefully stacked them and folded the straps around the holsters as Conner pulled off his shirt and started working at the laces of his boots.

"Fuck," he cursed, nearly plowing head-first into the floor.

"Hold on," Murphy snapped, laying the guns down on the nightstand. He dropped onto the floor in front of Conner and sat Indian-style, pulling his twin's foot into this lap.

"Thanks," Conner said, swaying a little. He put one hand on Murphy's head to steady himself and let his twin get him out of his shoes. "I drank a bit."

"Just a bit," Murphy said, and blushed a little. He stood and gave Conner a little push, smiling with a little mean glee to see his twin keel over and knock his head into the wall. "Go to sleep, for fuck's sake—ye look like yer on yer last wheel."

Conner smiled again and curled up on his side, saying in that same stage-whisper, "Come here, Murphy, ye little bastard. Come over here to me."

Murphy glared at him a moment, then gave in, sighing as he laid down next to his twin. There was nothing quite like home as lying with Conner's scent wrapped around him like a blanket, his heart pounding rhythmically against his back, his breath pulsing against his nape. Conner was home, his twin was his refuge—all he had in a world full of dark and ugly things that sometimes shot back, struck back, got the upper hand. Conner snuggled against his back and nuzzled his nose behind Murphy's ear, his arm folding over his twin in a gesture of protection.

"I love ye, Murphy," he drowsily said, relaxing behind him because Murphy was his refuge in the same way.

"I love ye, too, Conner," Murphy said, settling into that twin-thing, into being in two bodies at once, connected just that deeply. It was a bond too close and intimate for any lover to overcome, any family to push aside—they'd entered this world together and would leave it the same. And the idea of losing the other was a prospect that terrified them both. "I'm just so afraid."

"Yer fine, Murphy," Conner said, his voice vague as he drifted on the edge of sleep. "We'll get ye straightened out, I promise. I helped ye into this mess, I'll help ye find yer way through it."

"I know ye will, Conner," Murphy said, and waited until his twin was fast asleep before he moved to his own bed. It was cold there alone, away from the comfort of home, but comfort came at cost and Murphy understood that. He looked back at his twin, still curled around the hollow where Murphy had lain, his arm loose and his face slightly taut—as if he could sense that Murphy had left him. After all of it, after all he'd seen, all that he _knew_, he still had not turned from his other self, and that meant more to Murphy than anything else ever could.


End file.
